


Crying Ghosts

by drowninglinguists



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ouch, i am fucked up, i fucked myself up today, if you ever wanted to feel really really sad about harry's parents this is for you, lots of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-26 13:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninglinguists/pseuds/drowninglinguists
Summary: Albus is visited by an unlikely ghost with some very good points.





	Crying Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> It has always broken my heart to imagine James and Lily watching from somewhere in the afterlife, able to see everything that was happening to their beautiful boy. I imagine their anger, their pain, but most of all their grief. I believe Lily used the ancient magic that saved Harry's life accidentally, and I would put forth a theory that says all Wizards and Witches have access to this magic.

He tried his best not to be alarmed at the sudden things which can happen in an old castle, but usually with undead spirits some kind of warning precedes it. When the ghost of James Potter appears suddenly in his study, there is nothing to give him even a second.

“James?” He cannot hide the confusion in his voice, the  _ curiosity _ .

“Where is Harry?”

His voice sounded much the same as it did when he was alive, and so Dumbledore immediately finds it more difficult to breathe. Doubly so when the first thing he asked is after his son.

“Lily’s sister has him with her.”

“I know,” his voice is harried, too fast and emotional, “he shouldn’t be. I’m his father, and you’ll listen to me, Albus, get him out of there.” And it would’ve worked, he would’ve been writing immediately to Minerva to ask her to hold down the school while he is out, to Mrs. Dursley to inform her of his visit and that he was taking Harry. He  _ wanted _ to listen and do as he was told.

He just could not.

“Where would you have him go?”

Even as a ghost, it’s plain to see that this question struck James deeply. His form is mostly corporeal, not like what the ghosts of Hogwarts look like. He appeared almost to have skin, his eyes and hair are colored the same as they had been all his life, he was the same height, and he was wearing the sweater in which he had been found on the first of November. The only discernable difference was his broken glasses.

“They don’t  _ feed him! _ He doesn’t have a bed, he doesn’t have his own room, he doesn’t get presents for his birthday, he doesn’t get taken care of when he’s sick, they don’t  _ love him! _ They give him Dudley’s clothes and they’re about four sizes too big for him and so he  _ drowns _ in them because  _ They. Don’t. Feed. Him.!” _

It wasn’t often that Dumbledore found himself on the receiving end of shouting, but when he was, it was always for something he deserved. There was perhaps nothing he deserved more than to be yelled at by the ghost of James Potter. So he listened, keeping his emotions to himself as James screamed.

“He has to stay.”

“ _ No. He. Doesn’t.!  _ I am his  _ father _ , and I do  _ not _ give permission for him to be in that house! Take him out of it! I want him out of it,  _ now!” _ _ _

“Where would you have him go?”

“It doesn’t  _ matter! _ Here, with the Weasleys, with Minerva, it doesn’t  _ bloody matter! _ Anywhere would be better than that house with those  _ awful people!” _

“James…” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Lily’s magic, the protection spell that saved Harry’s life and rebounded onto Lord Voldemort himself, is bound to that house. It was carried with Harry when he was a babe, and attached itself to the house since that is where he remained in the aftermath. When Lord Voldemort returns, it will be the only thing protecting Harry.”

This was not news to James, as Dumbledore feared it might have been. But there was no telling what he had seen, what he  _ knew _ from the other side, watching all of them all of the time. 

“Put him with you, then! You’re the one Voldemort has always been afraid of. Take him, protect him,  _ feed him--” _

“I cannot--”

A sudden burst of magic rockets hotly through the room, singing the walls of his office. The chaos alarms Fawkes, who wakes suddenly and stares through James as though he cannot see him. But Dumbledore knows the birds’ eyes are too wide to be able to truly miss the apparition in his office, especially not of a wizard he used to know. But it  _ is  _ strange… James did not die in Hogwarts and on that alone should not be able to be here right now. Maybe in Godric’s Hollow he might be able to manifest himself, he  _ had  _ endured a violent and traumatic death, but  _ here, to talk to him?  _ And why wouldn’t he see Harry if he could?

“How are you here?” Finally, he could not bite back his curiosity any longer. “What kind of magic is--”

“I’m here for Harry. To get him out of that house. Get him  _ out _ of that house, Albus!”

He supposed there is no rest for souls that die in the manner in which they did. He supposed souls that died as James and Lily had might have certain magics and abilities that, if he was lucky, he would never know.

Quickly, he made the effort to resign himself that he would not be learning anything new tonight. This, like so many other things, he would never understand.

“He has to go back, James.”

“What do you  _ mean _ he has to go back?”

“The protection charm on the House is vital, it must be maintained--” Dumbledore spoke patiently, not reacting when James cut him off.

“Our son does  _ not _ deserve to be in that house! They treat him like he’s  _ garbage! _ You condemn him to stay in that bloody house, with those  _ Muggles _ , not knowing who he is, who we  _ were _ , not knowing what it’s like to be  _ loved, _ in the name of some bloody  _ protection spell _ that he wouldn’t even need if he were made to  _ Live. With. His. Godfather.!”  _ James, who rarely lost his temper, was quickly approaching thresholds of anger no one--not even Lily or Sirius--had ever seen.

“The world believes Sirius killed Peter, it is simply inadvisable--” This time, Dumbledore winced. James had sent a curse, this time, flying into the wall behind Albus’ head. His nose told him that the wood was badly burned, he didn’t need to look. He needed his eyes to focus on James Potter, whose ability to Summon himself as a ghost for his son was unprecedented and impressed Dumebledore deeply, no matter that this wasn’t the time to be impressed by feats of magic. 

“Sirius is innocent! He’s in Azkaban for something  _ he didn’t ruddy do _ , and you leave him in there, too! Because it’s convenient, Albus, is that why you do it? Because it’s  _ difficult to explain _ ? Because you’re afraid of not being believed? That it would damage your reputation?”

Dumbledore wisely knew this was a moment in which to hold his tongue. There was no right answer here, nothing that would soothe the ghost of James Potter.

Sirius could not take him. Remus could not take him. His aunt and uncle were all that was left.

“Get Harry out of there.” His voice was taking on dangerous levels of anger; Dumbledore half-wondered if James Potter had enough nerve and talent to summon himself back from the dead altogether.

“I cannot--”

“The hell you can’t!” Several of the glass instruments he’d had grouped together in the corner all exploded. The shards passed through James and struck Dumbledore through his purple robes, tiny pricks of pain. He bore it without reaction, knowing that the pain of a father unable to help his son was so much greater.

“The protection spell must hold.” He made every effort to keep his voice level.

“ _ We _ would’ve protected him--” For the first time, James’ nearly corporeal-form shimmered, such was his grief. “ _ We _ would’ve loved him-- He would’ve known what it was like to be held as a child, to be given anything he wanted, to see his parents every day doing mundane things like watering plants and heating the stove and  _ giving-- him-- hugs--” _

“Whatever you’ve managed to do to visit me isn’t going to last much longer, James.”

James’ head snapped up and affixed Dumbledore with an impressive, withering stare. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he again resolved himself not to react. At least it was confirmation that he was still with Lily where they had ended up.

“Say your peace,” he tried to soothe the man who used to be one of his soldiers, “go on.”

“Give Harry-- Tell him--” James was sobbing now, shaking all over and surely about to depart this world once more. “ _ Everything _ . Tell him how much we loved him, tell him he was  _ wanted _ , tell him how he would have been raised, tell him Sirius and Remus love him, tell him they  _ would have _ raised him if they’d been allowed, tell him--  _ Tell him he looks like Lily _ .” His voice broke, and then the image of twenty-one-year old James Potter faded from his office.

Albus finally permitted himself to let out a small gasp, able to breathe now that the temperature in the room was returning to normal. A quick inspection found there are icicles built up on the tips of his beard and that the pinpricks of pain he’d felt earlier from exploding glass wouldn’t harm him. He grabbed for the handkerchief in a hidden pocket of his robes and dabbed delicately at his eyes, soaking up the beginnings of tears. He knew not to worry that James would see them, he was blind to anything that wasn’t Harry.

“He’s only six, and it isn’t time for him to come to Hogwarts,” he was speaking to Fawkes, the only other properly-living thing in his office. The steady gaze of gold somehow helped ground him. He may have seen a lot in his time, but he was still shaken by what had happened.

“He managed to manifest himself out of pure grief. That’s… the same kind of ancient magic Lily used to protect Harry. …” He trailed off as his thoughts ran away with him, delving immediately into theories and practical applications and, most importantly, how it could be accessed. “It must be buried in us all, Fawkes, as deep and instinctive as the need to be loved.”

He smiled at the charming coo he received in response. “James was talented from the day he entered these doors, but to do that…” He considered his next words, so used to being careful that it was still habit in front of his Phoenix. “Harry will be a force to be reckoned with when he arrives. I shall not tell him… I cannot. If it causes a Harry a quarter of the pain it caused James--” His mind unwillingly imagined a rather thin boy with messy, dark hair and knobbly knees, breaking down in tears at the thought of how his parents died, of learning of all he could have had, of all that was taken so bitterly from him.

“No,” Dumbledore decided, “no, he can’t know.”

He had five years to figure out what to tell him. By then, he was sure he would know what to say.

\--

Children ask interesting questions. But how they’d gotten on this particular topic eluded Albus’ best guesses.

Naturally, when one of his staff needed his services as a stand-in for an hour, he was happy to oblige. He knew enough about History of Magic to passably lecture for some time, though his expertise was not up to the level of Professor Binns’. 

He had learned it was the first year class of Gryffindors too late. He still needed time to mentally prepare himself to see Harry, to see and Lily and James in him, all the teachers did.

It was painful, remembering how happy his parents had been together, remembering what they had been like as First Years, themselves, and it was painful seeing that Harry did not laugh like James or make smart comments like Lily. He had been shaped by his childhood in ways Dumbledore could not bring himself to take responsibility for, though they were undoubtedly his fault.

He thought it would have been Miss Granger to ask a difficult question today, but it had been Harry.

“Professor Binns is out today due to a personal emergency. Rest assured, your lectures will be back to normal tomorrow.”

A slight din of conversation followed his words, but it did not last long.

“Very well, what should we talk about today? Any last-minute requests?”

“Is he alright?” Shot up the hand of Miss Granger, whose mouth was moving before her fingertips were reaching into the air. Albus bit back a twitching smile.

“Yes, he simply has a few things to do.”

“So, he isn’t hurt?”

He shook his head patiently. “Very few things can happen to ghosts that are worse than what they have already been through.”

His cryptic words had the meaning he desired, quieting the first years and causing Miss Granger to put down her hand. He gave them a few seconds to consider the implications of what he had said, the better to strike their curioisty for small magical things early-on. He was about to start his lecutre when another hand shot up.

Harry was raising his hand, a curious look on his face, certainly too dark and too haunted for a boy of eleven. Dumbledore called on him.

“Can ghosts cry, sir?” 

But of course Harry should know his parents are dead. Of course he should have realized Professor Binns is dead and wonder these things about his parents; he is a  _ clever boy _ and asks clever questions.

The entirety of his visit with his father plays out in Albus’ head in a second, drawing fresh pain to his heart and squeezing it tightly.

“Yes, ghosts can cry.”

Harry nodded, dropping his eyes to his desk. Albus burned to know what he was thinking about, if he was imagining his parents, if he could somehow  _ tell _ that he had been visited by his father’s willful apparition just a few years ago.

Of course, he could not. He was eleven and quite new to magic.

Yet, part of Dumbledore wished that he could know, that he could tell him. And all of Dumbledore wished that Harry were going to receive letters penned from his mother at lunch today asking how his first week had gone, if he liked his classes so far, was he making friends, and, most of all, that they would be signed ‘ _ from Mum and Dad, all our love’ _ .

  
  



End file.
